House of Wolves
by lionheart-mikoto
Summary: Basically Lord of the Flies told from Jack's perspective.
1. Chapter 1

**So this is my first ever published fanfic. Yay! Ah, God.**

**Basically, this is a rewrite of Lord of the Flies, told from the perspective of the ever-likeable Jack Merridew, aka the most haughty-arrogant-and-self-righteous-bastard in literature. Despite his ass-hattery, I really like Jack (although Simon will forever be my baby), and I thought it'd be interesting to tell the whole Island experience from his point of view.**

**That being said, I'm a 15 year old girl with no experience in writing, not Sir William Golding himself. My writing will not live up to his, as nice as that would be, and Jack is not my character, so some things may seem OOC. But hey, what's a little experimenting?**

**Chapters are going to be a bit lengthy because I like being thorough in my writing and I really want to build up Jack's character. Obviously it's going to follow the basic LotF storyline, but I may throw some things in. I dunno yet. **

**Being new to writing fanfiction, any type of review is very welcome and much appreciated. Suggestions, ideas, constructive criticism, I'm all for it. **

**Okay, sorry for the lengthy introduction. Thanks for reading, and enjoy the chapter!**

The red-head awoke with a start.

His light blue eyes flashed open, and he was immediately engrossed in a cocoon of stiff, achy pain. From his dry lips came a low groan as he tilted his head back and shut his eyes again, tightly, flexing his fingers as he did so. When he reopened his eyes, the world was a great blur of darkness and light, spots and squares, but most prominent, the blur. The red boy blinked several times and licked his lips, squinting as he tried to remember what had happened. He harboured a very faint recollection of the events leading up to his unconscious state, and a dull but steady throbbing in his left temple.

When his vision finally cleared, the red boy rolled his shoulders back and sat up, slowly turning his head as he took in his surroundings. He was still in the plane - or, what remained of it - fastened in his chair by the seatbelt. The front of the plane was missing, in its a place a massive, jagged hole from which sunlight poured in to the otherwise dark cabin. The metal was scarred with gaping holes of various sizes, which allowed more sunlight to speckle the eerie carnage. Twisted metal and wires hung all around him, and the air tasted acrid; of burning metal and gasoline and smoke and death.

Panic was quick to set in when he realized that the seats all around him were unoccupied, the boys nowhere to be seen. He tried calling out for them, but his voice failed him and instead from his lips came a hoarse cough. He turned his head more sharply now, ignoring the pain in his neck, looking for any other signs of life. He stopped when he caught sight of a boy sitting across the aisle from him, and opened his mouth to ask what had happened, but quickly slammed it shut to hold back the bile that threatened to spill from his lips. The boy was slumped back, his head bowed, and from his face protruded a thin piece of metal. His white shirt was stained red with blood, and the back of the seat ahead of him was splattered with the crimson liquid. The red boy swallowed the bile and hurriedly fumbled to unbuckle his seatbelt, more than eager to get out of the cabin and away from the corpse.

He pushed himself up to his feet and cringed as his body protested against the sudden movement, then looked behind him, scanning the seats he'd missed during his initial sweep of the carnage. Some were blood stained, others shredded, several untouched. Then he noticed the small form slouched over in a seat several rows back, so small that it would be impossible to see it while sitting. He initially would have left and more than gladly have been off on his way, but the coarse black hair and black tog that covered the boy stopped him in his tracks and made his blood run cold. He could feel the colour drain from his face, and he quickly stumbled out into the aisle and hurried back to the body.

He knelt beside the boy, lifting his head gently and checking for any injuries. There was a scratch on his forehead, he noticed as he brushed the hair back from the boy's face, but aside from that there were no other eminent injuries. _So he's not dead,_ he told himself in an attempt of self-reassurance. _You're not dead Simon, so wake up._

The red boy softly tapped the boy's cheek with a hand, hard enough to make sound but without the force a slap would carry. "Simon," he whispered, then his voice grew louder. "Simon!"

The head jerked up with a gasp, and bright green eyes flashed as the boy snapped into consciousness. He looked around, dazed, until his eyes found the red boy, and smiled pallidly. "Jack," he said, voice small, shrill, and hoarse. "What happened?"

"I'm not sure," the red boy, Jack, admitted quietly. "I don't remember much, but. . . I think - I think the plane crashed."

"_Crashed_?" The green eyes went wide as the mouth echoed the word. "Is everyone. . . Are they okay?

The corner of Jack's lips twitched. He didn't want to admit that he had no idea where the choir, _his _choir, was, nor did he want the smaller boy to see the dead one a few rows up. "They're outside waiting." He said. It was half true, he was sure - if they weren't in here, they had to be out there; wherever there was.

"Are _you _okay?" Asked Simon, cocking his head slightly as he studied Jack. "You've a scratch on your cheek, and a nasty bruise on your head-"

"I'm fine," Jack replied sharply, hating the way Simon constantly fretted over him. "Now come on, we ought to find the others. You can walk?"

"I'd hope so." Simon said as Jack helped him from his seat, and together, the two boys walked down the aisle towards the gaping hole, Jack making sure to distract Simon as they passed the corpse. They carefully climbed from the wreckage, careful not to injure themselves on the jagged pieces of twisted and broken metal that seemed to stick out everywhere. Simon had put on his cap - black and decorated with a silver badge - and it was with irritation that Jack realized he was missing his own. He grumbled something about it and was about to turn back to look for it, when Simon revealed it in his hands. The golden badge - signifying Jack's responsibility as chapter chorister and head boy - glittered in the sunlight, and he was quick to take it from the smaller boy and place it atop his head, feeling as though he were complete again.

"Found it laying on the ground," Simon told him, and the pair pressed on.

They found themselves in a jungle, or at least surrounded by it, since the plane had torn up the surrounding trees and left a giant and ugly scar running through the scape. The standing trees cast green shadows all around, and bugs hummed and buzzed through the air, though even they tended to stay to the shade, not daring to venture out in the sun's harsh rays. Despite the surrounding shade, the heat, almost visible, beat down on them, and under their black togs, quickly grew unbearable. Jack's pale face had turned a deep red as sweat pooled down his forehead, while Simon, always darkish in colour, showed no affects of the heat save for the sweat that glistened on his face. Jack watched him uncertainly, half expecting him to keel over right there, but Simon glanced up at him with a small smile and said "I'm alright."

They trudged on through the great expanse of jungle, sore, hot, and wary, no sign of other boys for quite some time. After what seemed like hours of trekking, the brush in front of them suddenly shook, causing Simon to gasp and step closer to Jack. His heart was an untamed stallion in chest, ready to burst free of his ribs at any time, but he could not show weakness, not in front of Simon. He stepped ahead of the small boy, slowly, cautiously, like a wolf drawing on its prey. "Who's there?

The brush rattled some more, and a flurry of whispers suddenly rose from within it. Simon's posture relaxed, and he came up beside Jack, giggling softly. "The bushes talk here."

"Ow! Bill, watch where you're going!"

"_You're_ the one stepping on my hand! _Get off_!"

"I'm going to step on your throats if the two of you _don't shut up_!"

"Wait, wait, be quiet! I hear someone."

"Who?"

"_How do you expect me to know_?"

Jack released an airy, exasperated sigh and crossed his arms over his chest. "Get out of the brush, for God's sake."

Silence. Then the brush began to shake violently as boys began filing out from it. They stood side by side, eying the two boys in front of them.

"Hey, it's Merridew!"

"And Simon!"

"Merridew and Simon!"

"Simon and Merridew!"

The group all laughed, with the exception of Jack. "Why did you all wander off?" he demanded, bristling with anger. "I should've been the first that you woke up."

"We tried, Merridew." Said a taller boy with short, curly brown hair. Bill. "But you weren't waking up, and neither was Simon-"

"We thought you guys were dead." Rupert informed them solemnly, which caused Bill to shoot him a glare for interrupting him and Henry, the youngest, to wail loudly. Jack groaned and rubbed his face, wondering if he'd have been better off on his own.

"Well, we're not dead, that I can assure you of." He said after a moment. "But we can't linger around here and- wait, why where you in the brush in the first place?"

The entire choir turned to Maurice, who stood in the middle of the group, blushing and rubbing the back of his head with a hand. "See, we uh. . . I, um. . ."

"We were looking for food," Bill said, looking Jack in the eyes, "then we heard some weird noise off in the distance-" he pointed in the direction Simon and Jack had come from - "and Maurice said something about all these monsters that live in jungles like this. So, we uh, all hid in the brush."

"It was probably just the plane," Simon suggested, blushing and looking at his feet when all eyes turned to him. "Um, it was likely just a piece of metal falling. . . There are pieces everywhere, so. . ."

Jack sighed, eager to end this discussion. "There are no monsters, not in this jungle, not in the next, not anywhere. We're not babies, Maurice_,_ so stop acting as such."

The broad brunet grinned and laughed shyly at the direct address, and Jack continued. "We're all here, I assume?"

"We're all here." Harold said.

Jack surveyed the boys, naming them off in his head. _Harold, Rupert, Henry, Bill, Maurice, Robert, Wilfred, Roger, Simon, me. . . Good_. "Alright." He said, nodding to himself. "You're all okay? The plane crashed, obviously-"

"We was shot down!"

"There was smoke and fire everywhere!"

"Pow pow, pow!"

"Where are we?"

The question brought with it a heavy silence, and all eyes turned to Jack for answers. He looked at them, freckles hidden under a blush of embarrassment. He had no idea where they were, and didn't even remember where they had been going. A dragonfly, magnificent in size and exotic yellow and blue colouring, darted by, and all was silent.

"I assume this is an island." He said at last, pulling at the tog which clung to him fiercely. "But either way, we shan't find out standing here."

"There's a hill back there," Robert said, pointing north. "If we climbed up there-"

"We'd be able to tell if it _is _an island!" Maurice broke in excitedly. This caused murmurs of excitement and wonder amongst the group, and Jack raised a hand for silence.

"Alright, alright. Choir! In position. We shall trek up the hill to see if there's water all around. Then-"

Jack Merridew was cut off by a loud, blare-like sound from down by the water. The choir looked around anxiously as its deep, haunting wail continued for a moment, stopped, then sounded again.

"That must be the man!"

"Yes, yes, the one with the trumpet-thing!"

Excitement stirred amongst them all now, and save for Roger, they all began chattering amongst themselves. Jack, growing more and more frustrated with their disobedience, punched the nearest tree and silence ensued. "You all shut up!" He snapped, blue eyes blazing. "Just because we're not at school anymore, doesn't mean that I'm not your leader. I expect you all to listen to me the same!" When no one uttered a word, he relaxed a bit and lowered his voice. "Now listen up. Get in your positions - you know which ones - and we'll head down to the beach. Put on your caps."

"Do we have to keep our togs on, Merridew?" Henry whined, face the complexion of a tomato. The question came with murmurs, which Jack ignored. He stood waiting as the boys slowly formed in to two parallel lines that looked to him as one, both resentful and impatient and respectful. He eyed them up, and when he was pleased with their formation, led them in a march through the jungle and down to the beach.


	2. Chapter 2

**Mm, okay, so here's chapter 2. **

**I have a lot of fun writing this, and I can't wait to get into the parts where Jack is posh-head-chorister-turned-savage. The first several chapters are going to follow the basic plot of the book very closely, but once all the boring initial post-crash stuff is done, it'll get more creative.**

**DoingItForJohnny - Thank you! I'm glad that you like it. uwu I hope the upcoming chapters don't disappoint.**

**Okay, that's all. Enjoy!**

* * *

The hot grains of white sand glittered in the harsh rays of the blazing sun, and the ocean stretched out for miles and miles and miles, a dazzling light blue until it hit the reefs, in which it was then turquoise and turned to deep blue past the coral. Jack Merridew marched at the head of the choir, leading them in song and step, his golden badge glinting in the light and his pointed chin tilted up in a display of self-confidence. However, the affects the heat were taking were palpable; his eyes were narrowed and stung with all the bright scenery, and he was seemingly melting under his tog. Despite this, he didn't falter.

Up ahead, he spotted a platform created by a rock in the shade where a fairly large group of boys had gathered. Most were watching the choir - his choir - as they marched in sync down the beach, and determination suddenly swelled within him. His choir was, unarguably (at least in his opinion), the best in all of the United Kingdom, and he planned for them to maintain such a title out here. 10 feet from the platform he ordered the boys to 'stand to', and they halted; panting, swaying, sweating in the unforgiving heat of the Pacific. Simon tugged on his tog and wiped sweat from his forehead, black hair soaked and plastered to his forehead while his breathing was heavy and laboured. Roger eyed him, noticing that he had turned unusually pale.

Jack himself strode forward, stepping with such confidence that the boys watched him admiringly. His pupils went huge in the darkness of the shade, and it took him a moment for his eyes to recover from the sun-blindness.

"Where's the man with the trumpet thing?" He asked no one in particular.

"There's no man with a trumpet," came the response, "only me."

Jack turned and his eyes fell upon a fair-haired boy who sat in the middle of a group of a smaller ones, several sucking their thumbs and all plastered in sweat and fruit juice. The fair boy stared back at him from rather nonchalant green-grey eyes, and Jack frowned. The boy was close in height with him, a little more than half a head shorter, with thin lips and an overall calm demeanour. He was, in truth, quite the attractive individual, but other than that, Jack saw nothing special about him. He was younger, that much was obvious, with a broad, sturdy build, but there was something about his expression that sparked annoyance within the red-head. He lost interest in this fair-haired boy and turned to the others. "Isn't there a ship, then?" He asked. Anger flared up in his eyes when the younger boys started picking at the grass instead of answering his question.

"No, we're having a meeting. Come and join us."

Jack's frown deepend and he turned back to the fair boy. He heard shuffling behind him, and saw that the choir was breaking formation. "Choir!" He shouted, more angrily than intended, but he had had more than enough of their nonsense. "Stand still!"

This order brought cries of protest from the boys. "But, Merridew."

"Please Merridew..."

"Can't we?"

Licking his dry lips, both embarrassment and rage sparked in Jack's eyes. He was about to let loose on them when Simon suddenly flopped face first into the sand, and that did it. The choir broke up, each lending a hand in carrying the unconscious boy into the relative comfort of the shade and removing his tog. Jack turned even redder than he already was, skin almost matching the colour of his hair. Guilt, frustration, and annoyance churned in his stomach; Simon _always_ had to have one of his fainting fits during the worst times, but. . . Well, this time is was mostly his fault. He should've brought him into the shade, should've figured that he wouldn't have been able to last in the heat. Trying to make the best out of a bad job on his part, he ordered the choir to leave the boy be.

"But Merridew-" Wilfred began to protest, kneeling next to Simon.

"He's always throwing a faint," the red head broke in hotly, dismissively. He did _not _like being challenged. "He did in Gib.; and Addis; and at matins over the precentor."

The boys snickered at the last bit, and Jack allowed himself a faint smile of self-assurance. Then he turned back to the fair boy, deciding that there were more pressing matters than Simon's history of faints. "Aren't there any grown ups?"

"No."

Jack sat on a trunk next to Harold and stared at the boy absentmindedly, considering this bit of new information. "Then we shall have to look after ourselves." He realized.

A huge boy that Jack hadn't noticed before suddenly cleared his throat, not making eye contact with the head chorister as he spoke. "That's why Ralph made a meeting." He said in a soft voice, and Jack's lips curled into a scowl of disgust as he got a better look at this boy. He was unbelievably overweight, with a waddle in his step and small brown eyes that peeked out from behind a pair of thick specs. _Definitely not someone who would even be considered for the choir, _he thought. What an embarrassing asset this child be. "So we can decide what to do," the fat boy continued. "We've heard names. That's Johnny. Those two - they're twins, Sam 'n' Eric. Which is Eric-? You? No, you're Sam-"

"I'm Sam-"

"n' I'm Eric."

The fair boy glanced at the twins, and Jack took a moment to study them as well. They were small in stature, and he guessed they couldn't be any older than 10 or 11. The level of sameness they possessed took the red-head aback; there were no definitive features of one that could tell him apart from the other, and when you looked at them long enough, they seemingly blended into one boy. They both had dirty-blond hair, and the same golden-brown eyes. Jack stared long and hard, narrowing his eyes as he attempted to find even a different strand of hair that would suggest who was who, but ultimately came up short.

"We'd all better have names," the fair boy said, looking away from the twins, "so I'm Ralph."

"We got most names," the fat boy piped up, "got 'em just now."

Scoffing, Jack propped his elbows up on his knees and rested his chin in the palm of his hands. "Kids' names. Why should I be Jack?" He asked rhetorically. He was grown up, or at least the most out of all the boys here. A boy of 13 and a half years, he'd almost always gone by his last name, as adults did; only children were called by their first names. "I'm Merridew."

The fat boy nodded, making a mental note, and pointed to one of the little ones - naked and picking his nose, Jack noticed with slight distaste. "Then, that boy- I forget-"

"You're talking too much." Said Jack, cutting the fat boy off and staring at him with boredom plastered on his face. "Shut up, Fatty."

Several bouts of laughter sounded, and Jack grinned slyly in self content.

"He's not Fatty," Ralph spoke up over the laughs. "His real name's Piggy!"

At the revelation, a storm of laughter arose, and every boy but Simon - now conscious and smiling sympathetically - was consumed by a fit of hysterical laughter at this ridiculous nickname. Piggy removed the specs from his face and wiped them off in his shirt, head bowed and face bright red. Ralph was chuckling as well, although less confidently than the others.

When the storm passed, naming continued, and Jack paid close attention to how his choir introduced themselves. First impressions were vital, he knew, and could only pray that they didn't present themselves as a band of fools.

Maurice was amiable as always, Bill announced his name in an annoyed mumble as Maurice stood over him grinning, while Rupert and Harold introduced themselves quietly. Roger tensed up when it was his turn to speak; he muttered his name under his breath, without looking up from the ground, and Simon gave Ralph a smile as he named himself.

"We've got to decide about being rescued." Said Jack after naming was finished, in hopes of avoiding having to listen to Piggy ramble on. His words sparked a buzz, and Henry whimpered something about wanting to go home. Jack groaned and looked up to the sky, wishing for once that his entire choir wouldn't do something to humiliate him and themselves. _That will happen the day pigs start flying. _

Ralph, on the other hand, was more verbal on what he thought of the small boy's complaint. "Shut up," he said, then raised the shell in his hands. "Seems to me that we ought to have a chief to decide things."

"A chief! A chief!" The choir chanted, and Jack stood up.

"I ought to be chief." He announced simply, as though it shouldn't be a question. He looked to his choir and said "because I'm chapter chorister and head boy. I can sing c sharp."

The choir was silent, but the other boys muttered to and amongst themselves. Jack turned on them, frowning, the red beginning to return to his face. "Well then, I-"

"Let's have a vote." Roger said, a voice which surprised most of the boys. Simon seemed pleased that he was finally speaking, then looked between Jack and Ralph and nodded in agreement. Other voices began expressing their agreement as well, but Jack began to protest.

"No, wait, I- hey, listen! I-"

His voice was drowned out as boys began nominating Ralph as a potential candidate. The fair boy sat in the centre of the platform, eying the shell in his hands, then raised a hand for silence. It was begrudgingly that Jack noted how quickly the chatter ceased.

"Who wants Jack as chief?"

The choir was hesitant, but after Simon raised his hand, the rest followed. Jack noticed how Wilfred was the last to raise his, and decided he would do something about that later.

"Who wants me?"

Every hand outside the choir shot up, and Ralph blinked in mild surprise. It was clear that his votes outnumbered Jack, and the red head turned such a shade of crimson that he looked like a ripe tomato. He stood up. "But I-" He paused, then sat back down and closed his mouth. He didn't see much of a point in arguing, and figured that he'd already humiliated himself enough. He began fingering the cross on his left breast, feigning interest in it instead of the looks of sympathy and the cheers for Ralph.

Ralph smiled at the applause, and Jack bristled when he saw that the choir was cheering as well. The newly elected chief turned to him and offered him a small smile. "You're in charge of the choir, of course.

"They could be an army-"

"Or hunters!"

Ralph waved a hand for silence, and the shouting ceased. "What do you want them to be, Jack?"

The red head stood again, staring straight at Ralph. "Hunters." He told him, sure in his decision. "They'll be hunters."

At that, the two boys shared a shy smile. Ralph nodded in approval, and Jack glanced back at his boys. They all nodded him, some smirking, others nonchalant. Simon, on the other hand, shifted uncomfortably on the log.

"All right, choir. Take off your togs."

A loud whoop of excitement bellowed from Maurice, and the brunet jumped up from his seat and was quick to tear off his tog and toss it onto the grass. Bill rolled his eyes and removed his in a more eloquent manner, while the rest of the choir copied. After a moment, the grass was hidden under a pile of sweat-soaked black togs, and the choir took the chance to chatter amongst themselves. Jack had half a mind to keep his on, but decided against it as he stared out at the beach and placed his on the trunk next to Ralph. His grey shorts were sticking to his body due to the sweat, and he grimaced at the sticky feeling. He hated this heat.

"We tried to climb up a hill over there to see if there was water all round." He told Ralph after noticing the blond glancing at the shorts admiringly. "But then your shell called us here. I think it's an island, but I'm not sure."

Ralph nodded, then held up the shell to garner the attention of the boys. "Listen. I need some time to think things through. I can't decide what to do straight off, but I think we should figure out if this is an island. If it's not, then we might be rescued right away. So I'll go see if it is an island, and Jack will come, and, and. . . And Simon."

At the decision, the choir sniggered, and Simon laughed with them. He gave Roger a pat on the shoulder and stood up, brushing himself off and coming up beside Jack with his lips curled back into a shy smile. A buzz rose then, and Jack took out from behind him a sheath-knife and jabbed it into the trunk next to him. The boys fell silent, eying the blade nervously.

"I'll come." Piggy announced after a moment, stepping up beside Ralph. The fair boy turned to him, the corner of his lips twitching. The two bickered a little, until Jack grunted and spoke up, voice flat and annoyed and straight to the point.

"We don't want you. Three's enough."

Piggy began protesting, but the three boys paid him no heed as they jumped off the platform and headed along the beach. The sun rained down on them, and the flush of heat returned to their faces. Jack glanced up into open blue sky, disappointed. He was hoping for any signs of rain to cool the place down.

Ralph suggested that Simon, the smallest, walk in the middle of them, so he and Jack could converse over his head. The trio fell into a step, which was broken abruptly when Ralph stopped to argue with Piggy - who, to Jack's immense annoyance, had followed them. Simon turned to glance back, about to stop and wait, but Jack grabbed his arm and tugged him along without looking back. "Leave them," he said gruffly, "or you might encourage Fatty to come along."


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry this took so long! **

**To be completely honest, I rushed a bit through this chapter, because it's more of the boring right-after-the-crash stuff that once again sticks closely to the plot of the actual book. The next chapter will as well, but after that, things will get exciting and more original, I promise.**

**MonkeeMania - Thank you! I'm glad you enjoy it.**

**FanOfRandomThings - Ahh, thanks! uwu I appreciate it a lot, that's very encouraging to hear. I'm happy that you like it so much, and I hope I don't disappoint you!**

* * *

When Jack heard the shrill, terror-stricken shriek of an animal, he raised an arm to stop and silence Simon and Ralph, who were trailing closely behind and conversing amongst themselves as they moved through the dense jungle and back to the platform where the other boys waited. The trio had scaled the mountain, determined that it was indeed an island that they had crashed upon, and in that hour had become friends; excited, giggling boys who shared the same thrill at the realization that they were left unrestricted by the rules of the adults, free to do as they wished. Jack was both excited and daunted by this newfound freedom. He was uncertain what to do with it. A part of him wished that there _were _adults, or at least one, to help them figure out to do. Adults were always good with that stuff, weren't they? They always seemed to know what to do. But he was always eager to prove himself; to show his choir what a leader he truly was, to get them rescued, and even have them look up to him.

But presently, there was a more pressing matter to attend to than imagined fame and glory.

The piglet before the trio was entangled amongst the thick curtain of creepers, squealing in wild terror and scrambling to free itself and flee from the three strange monsters that watched it with curiosity and a type of nervous lust. Jack drew his knife and raised an arm as the three boys rushed forward, kneeling behind the screaming animal. The silver blade glinted in the light that managed to poke through the jungle canopy - Ralph was watching Jack, Simon the pig. It continued to scream and fight and shriek, a frightened pink thing that, much to Jack's unease, sounded similar to a person. He held the knife aloft, his hand trembling slightly as his blue eyes widened. He had to kill the pig, right? They needed some source of protein, and Ralph was watching him. . .

_'__You shouldn't hurt another living thing.'_

That was possibly the most important rule the adults had, and he could just envision disappointment, as if it were his parents watching him instead of this fair chief and queer singer. His parents' eyes bore into the back of his head; his mother was whispering sweetly in his ear, his father watching with furrowed brows and pursed lips. _But we need to eat–_

And in that moment of hesitation, of sweet whispers and furrowed brows and fantastic uncertainty, the creepers gave one big jerk and the piglet tore free, squealing excitedly as it fled into the undergrowth and disappeared deep into the jungle. Jack blinked, face completely drained of colour as he glanced back at the others, who stared back wordlessly. He realized that he still held the knife up and slowly brought it down, returning it to its sheathed state as he slowly stood back up. Simon and Ralph stood as well, neither saying a word for what seemed like hours. Jack was a flurry of both relief and frustration. He imagined the hot, sticky blood pouring over his hands, staining his shirt and shorts, pooling around them, the light burning out of the piglet's eyes as the life drained out of it with its blood. . . Then he imagined Ralph and Simon, the weakness he had shown them, the subtle contempt towards him they felt but would not show. . . And he wiped sweat off his forehead, hoping that they wouldn't seem the shame his eyes betrayed. He was ashamed of himself, and angry, and indignant.

"I was choosing a place." He declared, as the three shared a sudden awkward laughter. "Deciding where to stab 'im."

"You should stick a pig," Ralph offered, his voice a bit too authoritative for Jack's liking. He thought he detected a hint of condescendence as well, but wasn't certain. Ralph continued. "They always talk about sticking a pig."

"You cut its throat," Jack grumbled indignantly. He didn't need Ralph telling him how to hunt. "If you just stab it, you ruin the meat and can't eat it."

"So why didn't you-?"

Jack turned on him, blinking, silent, frustrated. He turned away again and started walking ahead of them, not facing them as he spoke. "I was going to," he insisted, "I was just picking a place. Next time–!"

He pulled his knife out of the sheath once more and stuck it in the nearest tree, facing them once more, his eyes challenging them, daring them to contradict, to question, to doubt. When they didn't, he nodded at them, pleased with their lack of response, and pulled his knife out of the tree and sheathed it for the third time that day. They continued on down to the platform, and Jack allowed himself to fall a bit behind as the trio scavenged for any type of food they could find. He picked and ate the odd fruit, but found that he had lost his previous appetite, instead consumed by thoughts of the screaming piglet. Next time. . . Next time he'd show no mercy. He'd go right for its throat. He'd prove to Ralph that he was strong, fierce, capable. He just hoped that his two companions wouldn't share the news of his failure to kill. He had to uphold his tough reputation with the choir – no, they were hunters now, weren't they? – so that his authority over them wasn't challenged.

"Jack?"

The red head turned, almost startled, having not heard Simon approach him. He glanced past the small boy in search of Ralph, and found the blond down the hill, attempting to shake a tree to rid it of its brightly coloured fruits. His eyes found Simon once more, and he crossed his arms over his chest. "What do you want?"

"I found some berries."

Jack raised an eyebrow as Simon held up his hands to his face, a pile of small red berries sitting upon his palms. They were about the size of marbles, bright and plump and plentiful. "They're not poisonous." He said with a confident nod of his head. "I read about these in a book. Berries, I mean, not specific ones, but. . . Um. . . Well, see how it's red when it's squeeze it?" He carefully moved the pile to one hand and picked one from the top, giving it a squeeze until a red, jelly-like substance oozed from its skin. "It'd be white if it were bad for you."

Jack studied these berries, then looked at Simon, baffled. "Why are you showing me these?"

"Oh, I'm not showing you. They're for you. I thought you might like them, and it doesn't look like you were eating a lot, so–"

"Save them for the choir." The red boy cut in dismissively. "I don't want them."

Simon glanced down at the berries, then back up at his head chorister. Jack frowned when he noticed the hurt creeping into Simon's green orbs, so he placed a light hand on his shoulder and offered him a small smile. "I'm not all that hungry, and I've eaten quite a bit. Thank you, but the rest of the choir must be hungry as well." At that, Simon smiled again and nodded, then turned and scurried back to Ralph. Jack watched him go, sighed loudly to himself, then returned to the all-consuming thoughts of pigs.

* * *

Jack sat next to Robert, watching with distaste and exasperation as the majority of the choir argued over the berries that Simon had brought them. The giver himself was seated in the grass with Roger, offering him several berries while the dark boy stared at them in debate. Maurice and Bill were standing on either side of Harold, who held a decent amount of the red fruit in his hands, arguing over who get how many. Harold was trying to reason with them, but Bill would have none of it as he yelled at the always grinning Maurice.

Jack noticed that Henry was not amongst the choir, and glanced around, finding the smallest of singers throwing grass at a shrimp of a boy with a rather ugly mulberry-coloured marking taking up half of his face. Admittedly, Jack didn't care much for Henry; he was whiney, cried a lot, and a painfully slow learner. He couldn't hit the low notes, which definitely brought the choir down at times, and he was certainly no hunter. He figured they could do without him.

"How was exploring?" Robert asked then, his big brown eyes studying Jack's freckled face.

"Fine." He replied. "There's plenty of food, and we found a stream not far from here where we can get water. I think this is a good island."

"So this is an island?"

Jack nodded. "Like we thought."

"Are there any other people?"

"Not that we could see."

Robert nodded slowly, absorbing this information, deciding what to do with it. "So we may be here a while." He finally declared.

"Maybe, maybe not." Said Jack curtly, then he clenched his fist and shouted at Bill and Maurice, having had enough of their bickering. "Bill, Maurice! Share them _equally _between the two of you, for God's sake!"

Ralph blew the trumpet-sounding shell then, and Robert fell silent. Bill glowered at Maurice before snatching a handful of berries from Harold, then sat on the other side of Robert and grudgingly ate them one by one. Maurice laughed and sat next to him, which didn't make the fuming boy any happier.

The platform soon filled with the remaining boys, and Ralph sat to the left of Jack, waiting and holding the shell in his lap patiently as the chatter rose and died away. Jack looked at his feet a moment, then withdrew his knife from its sheath once more and began carving at the wood between him and Robert, listening to but not quite hearing what Ralph was saying.

"Well then–"

As he informed the group about their present situation, Jack allowed his mind to wander, continuing to carve into the wood. There were pigs, yes, and judging by how quickly the piglet had fled, they were fast and much more agile than he. They knew this island, and he didn't. Hunting on his own would be impossible, so then. . .

"You need an army," he decreed, not noticing the brief irritation that flashed in Ralph's eyes at the interruption. "For hunting. Hunting pigs."

Beside him, Ralph nodded. "Yes, there are pigs here."

And at that moment, Ralph, Simon, and Jack all spoke feverishly at once, the thrill of the squirming pink thing still livid in each of them.

"We saw–"

"Squealing–"

"It broke away–"

"Before I could kill it," announced Jack, cutting Simon off, "but next time–!" He slammed his knife into the trunk, causing Robert to flinch and the assembly to buzz – about the island, about the pigs, about the red boy and his knife.

"So you see," Ralph began once they had quieted down once more, "we need hunters to get us meat. And another thing. There aren't any grow-ups. We shall have to look after ourselves, as Jack said. And another thing–"

Jack noted his tendency to talk too much.

"We can't have everybody talking at once. It's confusing and we'll never get anything settled. We'll have a 'hands-up' rule, like at school."

He held the shell up in his hands. "Then I'll give him the conch."

"Conch?" Questioned Jack.

Ralph turned to him and nodded. "That's what this shell is called. I'll give the conch to the next person to speak. He can hold it while he's speaking."

"But–"

"Look–"

"And he won't be interrupted," said Ralph fiercely, looking challengingly at the other boys. "Except by me, because I'm chief."

An idea sprung into Jack's red head then, and he was suddenly on his feet. "We'll have rules!" He shouted excitedly. "Lots of 'em! And when anyone breaks 'em–"

A stir rose again, and a sudden movement to Jack's left quieted him. Piggy had lifted the conch from Ralph's lap and was standing a little in front of him, cradling the shell in his grubby hands as though it were a baby.

"You're hindering Ralph," he told them sharply. "You're not letting him get to the most important thing."

He paused, and looked round at the group. Jack, still on his feet and uncertain as to what to do next, looked to Ralph, who offered him a smile and invitingly patted the log beside him. Jack slowly sat down, glaring bitterly at this fat piece of lard.

"Who knows we're here?"

Boys were on their feet and shouting all at once, and Ralph grabbed the conch from Piggy and raised it for silence. "My dad, he knows." He told the fat boy, but Piggy shook his head and took the conch once more.

"Nobody knows where we are. They might have known where we were going, but we never got there, so how do they know we're _here_?"

Ralph took the conch back, and Piggy sat down. "That's what I was going to say next. The plane was shot down in flames. They don't know where we are, so we may. . . We may be here a long time."

When nobody said anything, he grinned suddenly and looked to Jack and Simon. "But this is a good island. There's food and drink. We can have a good time while we wait."

Jack held out his hand for the conch, and smiled when it was given to him. "There's pigs and food and bathing water and a little stream. Didn't anyone else find anything?"

When the silence prolonged, and it was obvious that none of the other boys had even bothered looking around, he gave the conch back to Ralph and brushed red hair back from his forehead. _What a great bunch we have here,_ he thought bitterly.

Then there was a scuffle in front of him, and he watched as the boy that Henry had been throwing grass at – the one with the birthmark on his face – was pushed towards Ralph by some of the other smaller boys. He was staring at his feet and mumbling at them, shaking at this sudden light of publicity.

Ralph urged him forward, and the boy held out his hands for the conch, but shrunk back and began to cry when the assembly burst out into harsh laughter. Piggy shouted at them for silence, and the boy took the conch, but the embarrassment of the situation had left him mute. Piggy knelt beside him and allowed him to whisper into his ear, nodding every now and then. When he stood up, he announced that the boy wanted to know what they were going to do about the snake-thing.

Ralph laughed, but stopped when the boy shrunk back even further. He urged him on, and Piggy communicated that this snake-thing was now a beastie; a monster that this small boy had seen lurking about the jungle in the dark. Arguing ensued, reassurance was needed, and Ralph cried several times that there was no beastie. Jack took the conch from him and stood up, facing the now grave and silenced assembly of scared schoolboys.

"Ralph's right, of course. There isn't a beastie; only kids believe in monsters. And if there is a snake-thing, my hunters will kill it. We'll look for it when we go hunting–"

"But there isn't a snake!" Ralph shouted, exasperation and irritation thick in his voice. Jack turned to him and blinked.

"We'll just make sure–"

Ralph threw his hands up, defeated, and tried rationalizing this idea of a beastie once more. Jack sat back down and frowned to himself, thinking what folly such an idea was. But still, if this boy _had_ seen a snake, he knew his hunters would kill it, and then everybody would admire him–

He tuned back in to the assembly in time to hear Ralph's idea of making a fire at the mountain, as a way to signal to passing ships and hopefully get them rescued. He grinned at this suggestion and nodded, then jumped to his feet once more and shouted, the rule of the conch lost in the fervour of excitement.

"Come on! Follow me!"

And all at once the boys were all on their feet, Jack leading them through the jungle to the mountain, not noticing how Ralph was shouting at them, only taking note of how the boys were following _him_.


	4. Chapter 4

_**I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG.**_

**I've been busy lately and haven't been on the computer a lot, and this chapter is a little longer, but the next ones will come out quicker, I promise! ;-;**

**Thanks to the continued support I'm receiving for this story! It's really nice and is a great encourager. I have a lot of fun writing this, and I hope you guys enjoy reading it!**

**Without further ado, here's chapter four!**

* * *

Jack stared down thoughtfully at the platform of forest on the opposite side of the mountain, blue eyes gleaming in the fading sunlight as several ideas passed through his head. He tapped his chin with a bony finger, then glanced behind him when he heard someone coming up. Ralph gave him half a smile as he maneuvered carefully along the rock and joined Jack in looking to the unfriendly side of the mountain.

"That there looks good enough. Plenty of wood." The red boy said, and Ralph nodded slowly as he considered this.

"Down there we could get as much wood as we want."

Jack nodded briskly and pulled at his dry underlip as he studied this fuel source more closely. There was quite a large patch where the saplings received too little sun, grew partly and then fell, left to decay amongst the always-present creepers. He figured that the decayed wood would burn more quickly, and perhaps even produce more smoke than the healthier trees. Aside from that, they didn't have anything to bring down the healthy trees anyway.

Jack then turned to the choir, pleased to see that each boy was wearing his black cap, their silver badges gleaming in the sunlight. He sized them up, and nodding contently – finding himself happy with them for the first time that day. They stood ready, watching their leader intently, poised to obey whenever the word was given. Power and pride surged through Jack at this display of obedience; he had disciplined them well.

"Alright then. We'll build a pile; come on."

It was Roger who found the easiest way down to the wood, and the boys followed him unquestioningly. Even the smaller boys joined in, though most gave in to the urge to scour this new forest for new fruit. Jack glanced back up to the top, where he saw that Piggy was the only one left up there. He was once again cradling the conch, looking down at the others uncertainly. When his eyes met Jack's he quickly looked away, feigning interest in a group of little boys trying to climb one of the trees, but Jack detected his unsettled state. He smirked at the fat boy's fear of him, though grew angry at his sitting up there and doing nothing as the rest of them laboured.

A noise back in the forest drew him away from his anger, and he turned to see Bill cursing as he stared down at bloodied hands. Maurice was laughing at him, while Rupert chastised him for his 'foolishness'. Jack trekked down to join them, glancing at Bill's hands then up to the boy's face. "What happened?"

"The bloody log fell apart, that's what happened!" He snapped, then remembered who he was talking to and bowed his head in begrudging shame and embarrassment. "Sorry," the blond boy grumbled.

Jack fixed him with a blink, then looked to Maurice. "Quit laughing. What exactly happened?"

"He picked it up and it just fell apart in his hands," Rupert explained in place of Maurice, who struggled to maintain his composure. "The pieces cut Bill's hands."

Jack nodded, figuring he ought to tell the others to mind themselves, when he heard a new commotion that caused all four boys to turn from the red hands of their fellow choirboy. The twins – Sam 'n' Eric, Jack recalled them being named – were struggling to lift a sturdy log, and calling some others for help. Jack ordered Rupert to tend to Bill and Maurice to follow him to the twins, and with the help of Ralph, Simon, and Roger, the seven boys managed to sturdily carry the log to the pile and toss it on top. Jack headed back with Ralph, leaving Maurice with Simon and Roger, and the two boys picked amongst the fallen trees until they came across one that looked much better than the rest. The boys, chiefs in their own right, shared a look. In unspoken agreement and excitement, each grabbed an end and looked to each other.

"Ready?" Jack asked, and when Ralph nodded, he shouted "Lift!"

The log was much heavier than they had presumed, but not impossible to lift. Ralph struggled a bit on his end, but managed to keep himself sturdy and offered Jack a sly smile. "Almost too heavy."

"Not for the two of us," Jack grinned back, undaunted.

With equal responsibility for this shared labour, the new friends staggered up the mountain and on the mutual count of three heaved the log to the top of the pile. Panting, sweating, red in the face, the boys laughed and relished in their accomplishment as they stood back to admire the pile. More boys were coming up the mountain, the older ones in groups with larger trunks and the remaining smaller ones carrying individual bundles of sticks and twigs, then the twins reappeared and brought forth a pile of green leaves, throwing them in the pile as well.

"What's that for?" Simon asked as he came up in between Ralph and Wilfred, observing these leaves curiously and wiping sweat from his forehead.

"They'll catch more easily," Jack told him knowingly, "They'll help the fire spread."

The twins nodded, then headed down to collect more. After several moments, they decided the pile was complete, and as the boys gathered round once again and looked to the two boys in power, Jack felt himself blush with a sudden realization.

_We've no means of lighting the fire._

He looked to Ralph, who was already staring at him with the same expression; one that hoped the other would know what to do. Jack shrugged his uncertainty, and ran several possible means of lighting the wood through his mind. They didn't have a lighter, and he highly doubted any of them were carrying matches. His parents had always told him not to play with matches, and all these boys were younger than him; thus, he figured that they had never touched a match before. There was this one trick his father had told him about one time, something with rocks. . . But there was also the one with sticks, and they were presently surrounded by ready sticks, so–

"You rub two sticks," he told Ralph, though his voice was thick with uncertainty. He had no idea _how _you were supposed to go about rubbing these sticks. "You rub–"

Ralph understood Jack's struggle and looked to the other boys sullenly, his shame palpable. "Has anyone got any matches?" He asked, voice coming out more softly than intended, so he cleared his throat and spoke up, though his voice was void of any confidence. "Matches? Anyone?"

"You make a bow and spin the arrow." Roger piped up, miming the action with his hands. "Psss. Psss."

Jack raised a red brow and stared at the choir boy incredulously, about to tell him to knock off the noises, but Ralph's sudden shout stopped him before he could start.

"Piggy! Have you got any matches?"

Jack turned away from Roger – who was still rubbing his hands and saying "Psss, psss. . ." – to see Piggy making his way down the mountain, red and sweating and puffing as he came. Jack noticed with sour humour how his pudgy body bounced with very step he took, and also noted that the fatty still had the conch clutched in his hands. _Treats it like the bloody Queen, _he thought critically.

The other boys were echoing Ralph's question at Piggy now, until he shook his head in response and found a place where he could perch level with the rest of them. He glanced admiringly at the pile, tilting his fat head slightly as he studied it. "My! You've mad a big heap, haven't you?" He observed.

"No thanks to you," Jack sneered contemptuously, then furrowed his brows as he noticed something about Piggy. An idea suddenly came to him, and he leapt up and pointed to the chubby child in wild excitement. "His specs!" He cried, looking to Ralph. "Use his specs to start the fire!"

Before Piggy could react, he was surrounded by a mob of shouting boys and grabby hands, reaching for his face, for his specs. He cried out as several hands raked his cheeks, and protested passionately when Jack managed to snatch the glasses from his face and leap back with them before they could be taken back. Ralph elbowed Piggy aside as he came knelt beside Jack. "Move out of the light!" He shouted at the others, and they quickly scuffled out of the way, bickering amongst themselves as they did so. Jack handed the glasses to the blond chief, who moved them to and fro until a stream of glossy white light ran from the glasses to the pile. At once a puff of smoke rose, taking Ralph by surprise and causing him to cough, while Jack brought his face in close to the smoke and blew at it gently. The smoke drifted away, and it looked for a moment as though their chances of having a flame were gone, but then the smoke returned; thicker, darker, until a tiny flame enveloped a twig, leapt up to a branch, and the pile exploded with a loud 'crack!', and the whole thing was engulfed. Jack and Ralph exchanged a look of both relief and mischief, until Piggy started up with his howling again.

"My specs!" He was babbling, waving his arms about like a toddler throwing a tantrum. "Give me back my specs!"

Ralph, with a derisive roll of his eyes, stood up at placed the specs in one of Piggy's hands. He began muttering about how poor his eyesight was without his specs, but no one was paying him any heed. The boys had taken to dancing around the glowing fire, cheering and singing and laughing, with Jack leading them in their celebration. He was extremely proud of himself for coming up with this brilliant idea, and relished in how clever he was.

"All of you, get more wood!" Ralph shouted above their jovial voices, and just as quickly as they'd come together, the boys scattered. They raced this way and that, down to the woods and scurrying back up with armfuls of twigs and leaves and branches. They tossed their contributions onto the pile, but in the end, their efforts proved fruitless; the flame diminished and the pile leaned into itself with a great sigh and explosion of sparks that shot up, hovered, scattered, and floated back down. The boys stared at the half-charred pile, then collectively sat or lied down, wiping sweat from their foreheads and panting like dogs. Ralph looked round, irritation flickering in his grey-green eyes.

"That was no good."

Jack sat up and opened his mouth to speak, but Roger beat him to it, fixing Ralph with an indignant and confused look. "What d'you mean?"

The fair boy shook his head, studying their pile as he spoke. "There was no smoke. Only flame. Ships aren't going to see any flames – it's the smoke that's important."

Piggy spoke up then.

"We haven't made a fire that's of any use. We couldn't keep somethin' like that going, even if we tried."

Jack bristled at his comment, and stood up, pointing at him angrily and accusingly. "Yeah, a fat lot you 'tried'!" He said, dangerously close to shouting. "You just sat there and watched!"

A soot-laden Simon came up beside Jack then, wiping hair back from his eyes. "We used his specs," he offered, and in that moment Jack couldn't stand his unfailing kindness, "he helped in that way."

"We should use green branches," said Maurice. "I hear that's the best way to make smoke."

"Do you see any green branches round here?" Bill asked him irritably, and Maurice shrugged.

"I bet if you looked."

"I got the conch!" Piggy wailed, and Jack turned on him, enraged and passionate.

"You shut up!"

Piggy cringed, opening his mouth to reply, then thought the better of it and shut it again, settling for glaring at Jack instead. The red boy returned the hateful stare, and in that moment, the resentment the two possessed for each other was nearly visible. Some of the other boys sensed this and either backed away or mumbled uncertainty amongst themselves.

Ralph, either not taking notice or simply deciding he didn't have time for the quarrelling, grabbed the conch from Piggy and looked around at the boys. "We've got to have special people to look after the fire." He told them, nodding to add emphasis to his words. "There could be a ship out there at any time, so we need to be ready. We have to keep the fire going at all times. And another thing – we need to have more rules, clear rules. Wherever the conch is, there's an assembly. Same up here as down there."

Jack nodded slowly, absorbing these words, processing them, forming opinions and tossing about ideas of his own in his head. If they needed special people to mind the fire, his cho– _hunters – _could easily do it. They could take watches in pairs for several hours at a time–

He stepped forward, confident in himself and his idea. He reached for the conch and smiled faintly at Ralph when it was given to him, then stood up straight and addressed the group of boys. "I agree with Ralph." He said, voice loud and clear and authoritative, so that Ralph, who found he struggled some with getting his ideas across, looked to him enviously. "We've got to have more rules," he continued, "and obey them. We're English, after all, not savages; and the English are best at everything!"

A whoop rose from the crowd, and Jack then turned to the fair chief. "Ralph, I'll split up my choir — hunters, that is — and we'll take turns minding the fire. Altos, you can take fire duty this week, and trebles the next. You'll be in pairs— if you have a partner preference, let me know, and if not then I'll just pair you up randomly. And about the fire now, we'll just let it go out. No one's going to see smoke at night, in the dark, and we all need some sleep."

Ralph nodded, smiling, and a cheer rose from the boys. Jack faced them with a grin of arrogance and narcissism, but all noise died down when Roger slunk forward and furtively took the conch from the head chorister. Jack raised a surprised eyebrow — Roger seldom spoke out, or spoke in general — while Simon smiled kindly and encouragingly. Roger seemed to shrink at the weight of eyes upon him, and looked like he was about to hand the conch back, then stood up straighter and spoke gloomily with shy glances at his fellow survivors.

"I've been watching the sea." He announced. "There hasn't been the trace of a ship, not a single one. Perhaps we'll never be rescued."

Simon's smile had vanished and the kindness was washed from his face, replaced by the impending sense of dread shared by the entire group and a look of gentle pity and subtle disappointment. Jack stifled a derisive snort and Ralph was quick to grab the conch from the dark boy's arms and fix them all with a passionate look.

"You can't think like that!" He said, almost desperately. "I said before that we'll be rescued. But we just landed here and the adults probably don't know where we are yet. I told you, we may be here a while. We just got to wait, 's all."

Piggy took the conch then, and Jack rolled his eyes as he once again commenced his infernal whining. No one was really paying attention to him; they were looking but not seeing, hearing but not listening. Even Ralph looked bored of him, and it seemed as though he was about to cut the fat boy off, when he suddenly started laughing, harshly, bitterly, a kind of 'in your face' laugh that sent waves of rage through Jack's bony body.

"You got your small fire all right." Sneered Piggy.

Jack, along with the other boys, looked to the unfriendly side of the mountain. Smoke was rising up to them, and after a moment, a small flame appeared, growing in size and leaping from tree to tree after a moment. The boys watched in fear and awe, and Piggy restated his sneer. Ralph, who had been looking down at this new fire as well, turned on him suddenly, furious and menacing and savage.

"Oh, shut up!"

"I got the conch!" Piggy whimpered, defeat beginning to creep into his whiny voice. "I got the right the speak!"

"Too bad that no one wants to hear you!" Snapped Jack.

Piggy licked his lips nervously, but continued talking regardless. "Ain't nothing we can do about that now. That was our fuel. I'm scared—"

Jack snapped.

"You're always bloody scared, you Fatty! You've done absolutely nothing since we got here 'cept whine and complain and cradle the conch! No one bloody cares about what _you_ have to say!"

Piggy wilted, afraid and hurt and defeated. "I got the conch." He said quietly, then looked to Ralph. "Ain't I, Ralph?"

Jack was about to shout at him again, his blood boiling by this point, but was interrupted by Ralph when he looked to Piggy and asked "What?"

"I got the right to speak, 'cuz I got the conch."

"You don't have a right to anything!" Jack snarled viciously, and Piggy retaliated this time.

"You were the one who said we should have more rules! You agreed that the conch has the same meaning up here as down on the platform!"

Before Jack could respond, the twins spoke up, giggling as they peered down at the spectacular fire.

"We wanted smoke—" Sam began.

"Now look—" Eric finished.

At the interruption, Piggy completely lost it. "I got the conch!" He screamed, stomping a foot as he spoke. "Just you listen up! We ought to have built shelters first, because the nights are gonna be cold, but as soon as Ralph mentions fire you all scramble like a bunch of kids and don't even let him finish!"

By now he had the full attention of the group, and stared intently at Jack as he continued his tyranny.

"Who knows how many littluns we have, huh? Who kept count of them? They were down there—"

"I told you to make a list!" Ralph shouted.

"How could I," cried Piggy, turning on his chief, "when they won't stay still for a moment? As soon as you left they all went to the forest or beach or water like insects! I couldn't keep them still, not by myself!"

Ralph licked his lips in an attempt to maintain his rage and embarrassment. "So you didn't count them?"

"How could I?!" Piggy repeated harshly, indignantly. "I couldn't—"

"That's enough!" Ralph snarled, and Jack's lips twitched as they struggled to fight back a smirk, which gave way to utter fury as Piggy started whining again.

"_You shut up!_"

Piggy glared at him, but paid his threatening tone no heed, or at least pretended not to. "And that littlun with the mark on his face. Where is he now? He was down there, I know 'cuz I saw 'im, but _where is he now_? I tell you I don't see him. He's not up here with us."

A heaviness descended upon the group that paralyzed them all, kept them deathly still and silent. Jack looked down to the fire again, thinking he would at least hear screaming or crying if the child was indeed down in the fire, but the only sound was the roar and crackling of the intense flames. Piggy stared at Ralph, waiting for a response, while Simon appeared to be on the verge of tears. Roger was staring at his feet, Maurice, for once, was not grinning, while Bill pawed at the ground with a foot, mumbling under his breath.

"He could've gone back to the platform." Jack suggested, more desperate to prove Piggy wrong in the allegory of his words than confident in what he was saying. The fat boy only shook his head.

"How? That there leads to the ocean, there's no way back to the beach. At least, not that no one knows of, 'specially not a littlun."

Jack frowned, and looked down the fire.

He wasn't sure if it was just his imagination or if it was the roar of the fire, but somewhere down in the burning forest, he could've sworn he heard a faint scream.


	5. Chapter 5

**Well, here's chapter five! Just a little Simon-Jack moment, really, but it's still something.**

**This one's shorter, because I've been busy getting ready for school (yay) and just wanted to produce a chapter so you guys didn't think I've given up on this or something. I know chapters are coming out slowly, but I'll try posting a new chapter once a week. **

**Thanks for your continued support, and enjoy!**

* * *

That first night spent on the island, Jack hardly slept.

Whereas the little boys had chosen the warmth of the sand below the platform, the older boys had taken to the cool grass, and Jack presently found himself wedged in between a lightly snoring Simon and a motionless Ralph, laying sideways with his back to the red head, giving no signs of life, though Jack thought him to be awake as well. The fair boy had barely spoken since they returned from the mountain. He had called an assembly to further discuss the fire and shelters, though Piggy had done most of the talking while Ralph stared sightlessly out towards the ocean. No one had seen the mulberry marked boy since the group had returned to the beach, and no one really discussed the incident. Simon had offered to go back up and look around for him, but he'd been told that scaling the great rock at night would be too dangerous and they'd consider it in the morning. Jack thought the notion fruitless, and everyone knew it deep down; the boy was dead, lost amongst the blaze, and the red boy genuinely felt bad – though Piggy's smugness regarding the whole situation sent waves of fury rippling through his bony body.

As much as he loathed to admit it, the fat body had been right about one thing; the temperature dropped drastically during the dead of night, and Jack had spent the past hour or so fighting off shivers. The choir had taken to using their togs as blankets (Jack had given his to Simon, who'd been shivering worse than the others), but they would be needing shelters at some point, as Piggy had said, or face cold and sleepless nights.

Tonight, however, it hadn't been the chill keeping them awake. While the younger ones had no problem falling asleep, the older boys realized the true severity of their predicament and were left plagued by menacing thoughts that prevented any sleep. Most managed to doze off after several hours, though, and at the moment, Jack and (presumably) Ralph were the only two awake. Jack could hear Maurice snoring loudly and grunting in his unconscious state, and he was just waiting for Bill to wake up and chew him out.

A new and quite sudden commotion lured Jack's attention towards the sand, and he sat up, watching several of the small boys as they squirmed – one was thrashing quite violently – in their sleep. From their mouths came incoherent babbles, which evolved into tortured groans and finally developed into screams inspired by some unseen terror. The boys closest to them stirred, sat up, watched them for several minutes. Then, without a word, they each moved a short distance away from the noisy fits of the terror-stricken boys, and promptly fell right back to sleep. Jack, however, was not in possession of such blissful ignorance – he was perturbed by their behaviour, and by the racket they were making. The last thing he wanted was for the entire island to awaken.

Deciding he would try to wake the boys from their plight, he carefully and silently stood up, balanced himself, and tentatively maneuvered himself around and over the sleeping bodies that littered the platform and lowered himself onto the sand. He moved forward a few feet then stopped, watching the squirming children, irritated with their childish fears and the disturbance they were causing. He gladly would've kicked sand in their faces and see what (or who) they were afraid of then, but that would stir an even greater commotion, and he'd been punished by his parents for a similar action years ago; when he had been at the beach and thrown sand into the face of a kid who was ruining his sand castle.

"Jack?"

The red boy turned, startled, watching as a shadow slid off the platform and stood about a foot behind him. The moonlight illuminated his features, and Simon's green eyes seemed to glow in the dark. The small choir boy seemed fully awake, but Jack noted the dark rings under his eyes. He was presently staring at the red boy with an almost weary expression. "How long have you been awake for?"

"A while." The head chorister admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with an unexpectedly cold hand. "Why are you up?"

Simon shrugged, then the ghost of a smile formed on his thin lips. "You know Maurice," he said, and no further explanation was required.

Jack then turned back to the little boys, and Simon came up beside him, watching them with mild perplexity and pity. "I think them littluns are having nightmares," Jack told him, and the dark boy nodded.

Their screams had been reduced back to babbles, and one had woken up on his own; he was sitting up, staring into the darkness of the jungle with wide, terrified eyes, then started crying and whimpering for his mummy. Jack scoffed, contempt flickering in his blue eyes, while Simon's green orbs shone with great sympathy.

"Like babies," Jack sneered, folding his arms over his chest and straightening his posture.

"They're only young," reminded Simon, looking to the red head with a gentle smile. "They must be terrified. I'd be scared too, if I were that little."

"You are," Jack quipped in regards to the singer's size, and the pair shared a quiet laugh. After what seemed like hours of silence, Simon turned away from the littluns – Jack liked that term for them – and stared at the ocean for a moment. Seemingly in a trance, he walked down to the edge of the water. Jack watched him walk away, and didn't move for a moment; he cast and uncertain glance back to the littluns, and followed Simon down to the shore.

The small choir boy had his tog gripped loosely around his slight body, his toes digging into the wet sand as the tide calmly washed over his feet and drew back into itself with a sigh. Jack wasn't particularly keen on getting his feet wet, but came up beside the chorister and joined him in staring out over the great expanse of ocean. The water was dark blue, dappled with silver moonlight. If you listened closely, you could hear fish jumping out of the water, though they couldn't be seen; when your eyes finally located where they had jumped, the only trace that remained of them was the water rippling where they'd landed.

Looking up to the sky, Jack saw that there were no clouds, and without the noises and lights of the city, the stars were brilliant. He studied these small, white dots admiringly, and Simon glanced over at him and followed his gaze. "Pretty amazing, isn't it?" He asked, eyes inquisitive and brimming with wonder. "You'd never see something like this back home."

"You might," countered Jack, "out in the country. My grandparents own a farm out in the county. I never go there often, but sometimes, you can see a kind of colourful thing smudged in the sky with the stars. Grandpa said it was heaven, but I doubt that."

"Oh." Simon said quite simply, then after a moment, added, "I think we got it good."

Jack fixed him with a perplexed look and the dark boy elaborated. "I heard stories 'bout planes crashing into deserts and cold places where it only snows. Or over the ocean, far away from any island, or even in the mountains. So I think we got it good. Sure, it's pretty hot, but it rains, and the nights and mornings are cool. We have food and water and we're all together. Ralph's a good chief, too."

Jack stiffened at the mention of the fair boy, and stared at Simon carefully. "You think he's proper?" He asked. "For a chief?"

Simon nodded confidently. "I know you're used to being a leader, and you're a good one, but it's good to have change, isn't it? Handling the choir must really stress you out at times, so I think this is a good break for you. To sit back and relax a little for once."

Jack stifled a derisive scoff, and turned away from Simon, staring at his feet. "I'm just as good a chief. He can't sing, and I doubt he'll do any hunting. I'm older than him, too."

"I didn't say you wouldn't be a good chief," Simon pointed out softly, and Jack, with his back still turned, couldn't tell if the boy was looking at him or the stars.

"I know," he said curtly, a new edge to his voice as he kicked lightly at the sand. "I'm tired."

"Oh, okay." Simon said, sounding slightly hurt and a little indignant. "I'm going to stay here a while longer."

Jack nodded, didn't acknowledge Simon's "good night", and stalked back up to the platform, finding himself unreasonably irked by the boy's words. Was he a bad leader in Simon's eyes? Knowing him, he wouldn't openly admit it – Simon couldn't stand the thought of upsetting someone. But if Simon thought him a poor leader, then what did the rest of the choir think?

As Jack wedged back into position beside Ralph (who hadn't moved since he'd left), he found himself staring bitterly at the blond's back. Ralph didn't possess the qualities of a true leader, he thought. He seemed too soft. _They'll listen for now, but when things get serious, he's going to be in a bad spot._

And then there was Piggy. But Jack didn't want to think about _him _right now.

He turned away from Ralph and stared at the patch of grass where Simon had been, mind racing with thoughts of the choir and Ralph and pigs. _Pigs. Pigs pigs pigs. _

His eyes widened as a sudden realization dawned upon him. He wanted to jump up and scream it out loud, but controlled his excitement and instead allowed himself a wide, almost sly grin.

He knew _exactly _how he was going to prove himself to these boys.


End file.
